It's Like a Panic Attack
by CamsthiSky
Summary: Stiles had killed Donovan. Someone was taking the bodies. These two facts kept circling in his mind and it was driving him crazy. It was like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into an abyss of panic and fear. The only thing that could possibly make him feel worse? Scott was on his way to talk to him. Takes place during 5x05. Canon divergence.
1. Chapter 1

Donovan was dead and the words Stiles had written on the board had only served to drill that fact further into his being, intensifying his guilt, his anxiety, his _fear_. Stiles had killed Donovan and the words were right there in plain view for anyone to walk in and see.

Although, there was another scenario. However improbable it was, someone might not have taken Donovan's body. The man could have walked out by himself somehow, and as much as Stiles feared Donovan coming after him and his dad, it would make this situation much easier.

The words staring him dead in the face were reminders he didn't need that this was a situation that couldn't be easily fixed—if it could be fixed at all.

Stiles had most likely _killed_ someone. What would his dad say? And Lydia? And _Scott_?

All he wanted to do right now was run away to Scott's and find his best friend and tell him everything that happened. But he couldn't do that. Scott was a good person, someone who always tried to save everyone and anyone who could be saved. What would he say if he found out Stiles had done the opposite. Had killed someone Scott was trying to save?

Struggling to pull in enough oxygen, Stiles stared at his own writing a second longer before he decided he couldn't take it any longer. He picked up the eraser and scrubbed at the words, focusing most of his shuddering energy on the words " _Donovan_ " and " _dead_ ", desperate to erase them from both his board and his mind.

When the words didn't come off fast enough, Stiles yelled out in frustration, throwing the eraser at the board in an attempt to quell his rising anxiety. This didn't feel right. He felt nauseous and he was barely pulling in enough air. It was like he was right at the edge of the cliff staring into the abyss of panic and fear, and if he fell, he was going to fall right into a panic attack and there was no one around to pull him out of it.

In an attempt to calm himself down, Stiles rested his head on the board—only cringing slightly when his shoulder twinged where Donovan had bitten him—and tried to take deeper, slower breaths. Working himself into a panic wouldn't help anybody. He needed to think about this clearly and wouldn't be able to do that if he was on his was to unconsciousness.

The vibrating of his phone startled Stiles, his nerves still on edge from his anxiety and fear. None of it had faded just yet. He still felt like the moment he turned around, Donovan would be standing there ready to attack him, and Stiles didn't think the next time they clashed—if Donovan was actually still alive—Stiles would be making it out in one piece.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. His anxiety levels shot up the moment he saw the name.

It was Scott.

With trembling hands, Stiles answered the phone, turning away from his board in hopes that looking at it would give him a reprieve from thinking about this whole situation.

"Scott?" Stiles asked shakily, trying to keep himself from sounding like he did all those months ago when he had been sleepwalking and slowly freezing to death. He didn't think he achieved that. Luckily, Scott didn't seem to notice.

"Stiles!" Scott exclaimed from the other side of the line and in an instant, Stiles knew something was wrong. It was Scott's next statement, though, that shook Stiles to the core. "Someone's taking the bodies."

Stiles froze, his lungs tight in his chest and unable to draw any air. If what Scott was saying was true, then that meant….

Oh god. Stiles had killed Donovan and someone had taken his body in between the time it took for Stiles to vacate the library to the moment the police officer checked out the school in response to his 911 call. That meant Stiles was guilty of murder _and_ they had a body snatcher on their hands.

Stiles ran his left hand through his hair, ruffling it. This couldn't be true. This _couldn't be_ true. If it was true, and Donovan was dead, then that meant the Stiles' hands had shed blood once again. And this time, it was with his own mind in control.

And that made everything so much worse.

"Stiles, you there?" Scott asked, sounding vaguely concerned.

Right, Scott was talking about bodies being stolen. And he probably hadn't meant Donovan's.

"Yeah," Stiles said, still trying to keep his voice from shaking too much. "Uh, yeah, um. Where- What are you talking about?"

"I'm at the animal clinic with Kira," Scott explained, his words slightly rushed and out of breath. "Tracy's body is gone. The lock on the door was broken from the outside. My mom told me Lucas' body is missing from the morgue. They're searching the whole hospital for him. Someone's _stealing_ the bodies."

Stiles closed his eyes, running his hand down his face in an attempt to ground himself. He felt too heavy. Too burdened with a weight that shouldn't have been on a seventeen year old boy's shoulders. It may have been in self-defense, but Stiles had killed Donovan and now someone was taking the bodies.

This was hell. It was like his mind was going in circles, always circling back to two facts.

Stiles killed Donovan.

Someone was stealing the bodies.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled out again, sounding more and more frantic as the seconds ticked on and Stiles didn't answer him. Stiles bit his lip before letting out a puff of air. He could do this. It was just Scott. He wouldn't even have to mention Donovan and Stiles wouldn't have to hear how disappointed Scott was in him.

"I'm here," Stiles said, slightly breathless.

Silence wasn't his forte. He usually talked and talked Scott's ear off with theories and sarcasm at this point. This is where Stiles was supposed to step in and support Scott, help his best friend make a decision on what to do. Scott needed him. He couldn't afford to freak out about anything right now.

"What's going on with you, man?" Scott asked, and Stiles could _hear_ the frown in his voice.

"Nothing," Stiles said, maybe a little too forcefully. But it didn't matter. Scott needed to focus on one problem at a time. "Does- Deaton doesn't have security cameras, does he?"

"No. But the alarm was tripped on my phone when whoever it was broke in."

Stiles grimaced. Well that didn't help anything. It just informed the owner that there was a break in and there wasn't a thing they could do about it but call the police, who would probably arrive just in time to miss the burglar.

"So we don't even have a clue on who's doing this?" Stiles asked.

"There's nothing here, Stiles," Scott said, his anxious voice stabbing into Stiles chest painfully. "The body's just...gone."

"Okay," Stiles said, starting to pace his room. He could figure this out. There was little to nothing to work with, but Stiles _had_ to figure this out. If he didn't, then who would? Nobody else thought the way Stiles did—a lesson Stiles learned the hard way—so for his friends' sakes, he _had_ to figure this out. "Okay, okay, are we sure it's not whoever is making these…chimeras? Couldn't that be who's taking the bodies? "

"Maybe," Scott said, though he sounded unsure. "It's something we're all going to have to look into."

Right. This wasn't just a Scott and Stiles problem anymore. They had people to rely on this time around. Stiles wasn't the only one who was good at figuring all of this out. Lydia was a genius in her own right and Malia could sometimes look at things in a different way, seeing things from a perspective no one else saw. It wasn't just Stiles.

But while Stiles wasn't alone on his journey to find answers, he had never felt more alone then he did now, even talking to Scott on the phone and knowing that his friends were out there trying to get to the bottom of things. His shoulders were weighed down with a secret no one could know about. With something that would separate him from the others for the rest of his life. Something that would separate him from _Scott_ for the rest of his life.

And it was all coming back full circle again. Any time he would try to think, it just came back to the two facts.

Stiles killed Donovan.

Someone was stealing the bodies.

"You're freaking me out, dude," Scott said into the phone. Stiles, unaware he had been spacing out, jerked at the sudden voice right next to his ear. He flinched and dropped the phone. It landed with a muffled thump as it landed on the carpet, and when he had calmed down sufficiently enough to reach out for, Stiles shoulder started protesting. Frustrated, Stiles snatched the phone up with his left hand and plopped onto his bed, covering his eyes with his free hand.

"-iles. Stiles. Stiles!" Scott was yelling. Stiles didn't even need to put the phone to his ear to hear Scott frantically trying to get his attention. "Stiles! Come on, man! Answer me!"

"Scott," Stiles said, sounding too much little a scared, lost little boy for his liking. "Scott, I'm fine. I just spaced out for a sec. You started talking again and I freaked out like a little girl. Don't tell Kira," Stiles added as an afterthought.

There was silence from Scott's side for a moment, and when the moment seemed to drag out into eternity, Stiles held his breath and didn't let it out until he heard Scott's determined voice sound out again.

"I'm coming over there."

Stiles' mind went blank and his free hand moved from his eyes to rest gently on his injured shoulder. There world was blissfully quiet for all of three seconds before something in him violently revolted. He was on his feet in an instant, fear and anxiety roaring in his ears.

"No!" Stiles exclaimed breathlessly. "No, I'm fine. It's way late and I just-"

"Stiles." Scott's voice was hard and determined, and Stiles knew that his best friend had made up his mind. "I'm going to drop Kira off and then I'll be over there as soon as I can."

"Scott!" Stiles protested. "I'm not a kid-"

"You've spaced out three times in the past five minutes," Scott reminded him.

Stiles closed his eyes and groaned at his own stupidity. He couldn't face Scott right now. Not right now. Not when the demons of fear and guilt were tearing away at him. This wasn't something he could keep from Scott while he was so open and vulnerable. Scott would see right through him. They had been friends too long for Scott not to notice something was wrong, and he should have known.

"Is something wrong?" Scott asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you okay? I know Lydia being in the hospital is hitting you pretty hard, but you know she's out of the ICU, right?"

Oh god, Scott thought this was about Lydia. He thought that Stiles was too overwhelmed with everything that was going on and that Lydia had been the final straw. Scott thought he was losing it over Lydia when in truth Stiles had completely forgotten about the strawberry blonde being in the hospital. And if he hadn't felt like a horrible human being before, he sure did now.

"I'm fine, Scott," Stiles tried to reassure his best friend, but even he could hear how dull and flat his voice was. "Scott, just- I'm fine, okay? I'm fine."

He could tell just by Scott's sigh that the werewolf didn't believe him. Honestly, Stiles wouldn't have believed himself, either. "I'm still coming over," Scott told him. "I'll be there soon."

And then Scott hung up and Stiles was left with an angry dial tone ringing in his ears. His mind immediately circled back to the facts in an attempt to keep Stiles from spiraling into a panic attack.

Stiles had killed Donovan.

Someone was taking the bodies.

But a new fact was adding itself right into place next to the other two.

Stiles was about to lose his best friend.

* * *

 **Hello! So, this is my first attempt at a Teen Wolf fanfic. I hope you liked it. Ever since episode 9 of season 5, I've been dying of Scott and Stiles feels and I needed something to make me feel better. So, this is like a "what I wish had happened" fic. So, canon divergence. Anyways, there will be a part two! I'm currently working on that right now. Thanks for reading. Please review and tell me what you thought.**


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles sat there on his bed, knee bouncing and fist practically shoved into his mouth as he attempted to calm himself down enough to think straight. He had to get his thoughts together if he wanted to stand any sort of chance at deflecting Scott's worries. The problem was, he just wasn't sure how to manage it.

It wasn't that he wanted to keep a secret from his best friend. On the contrary, he hated keeping something this deep and dark from the one person who was more like a brother than anything. But what could he say? What could he say to Scott, the one who was always tried to save everyone, even when they didn't deserve it?

Right now Stiles was open and vulnerable and everything he didn't want to be. Guilt was tearing at the edge of his mind, and it was a constant that Stiles couldn't seem to push away. If Scott saw him like this, Stiles knew he'd stand no chance.

He couldn't talk to Scott face to face. The phone call had already crashed and burned, leaving Stiles full of more anxiety and worry than he had since he'd come home. Scott coming over to find him like this….

There was no doubt in his mind. Scott would pull every last bit of truth from Stiles' lips.

Stiles felt the guilt intensifying. Someone was out there stealing the bodies, and that was what Scott needed to be focusing on. His best friend shouldn't be on his way over here because he was worried about Stiles. There was too many other things to be worried about to worry about Stiles right now. Scott shouldn't be coming over. _Why_ was Scott coming over?

Stiles jumped at the sound of pounding on the front door. Pushing himself up hastily, the teen jerkily made his way over to the window to look down at the driveway. There was Scott's bike. How he hadn't heard the roar of the engine approaching, Stiles didn't know. He didn't really think he cared.

Scott was already here, and Stiles was no closer to composing himself than he had been when Scott had hung up the phone. Actually, he felt even more panicked, like he couldn't catch his breath.

Pushing himself away from the window, Stiles turned around and surveyed his room, wide-eyed. He was still hyperventilating, but he hardly noticed. Scott was here and there couldn't be a thing out of place. Scott couldn't find out by accident. No, he couldn't find out at all.

It was the board that first caught his gaze, and Stiles stumbled over to the glass, picking up the eraser and desperately scrubbing at the words he'd written just minutes before. And while he scrubbed, his mind went blank, taking some semblance of comfort in not having to think anymore. Just, erase. All he had to do was erase and everything would be okay.

At least, that's what he told himself.

It seemed like hours later, but when he'd managed to get every last letter erased, Stiles took a step back. Somewhere in between the window and the stepping away from the board, he'd started to hold his breath. He didn't remember when exactly, only that Lydia's words from such a long time ago had somehow stuck with him and he didn't even have to think about it anymore. His body knew what to do to stop the panic attack before his mind had even caught on that he was having one.

Letting out his breath, Stiles scrubbed his face with his hand. He felt a little light-headed and _a lot_ exhausted, but he knew this wasn't over. It was never over. Just because he could breathe again didn't mean that everything was suddenly okay. It just meant that he had a little time to think clearly about the problems he was facing before the next attack hit him.

Pounding on the door started up again, effectively startling Stiles into dropping the eraser. A moment after Stiles regained a little composure, he stooped to pick up the eraser and threw it on the bed. He walked around the board and to his bedroom door.

He had forgotten that Scott was here, even though it was that very thing that had fueled his desperate actions just moments. Still, at least he felt somewhat better. Somewhat. Well, he could breathe and think a bit clearer. That had to count for something, right?

And yet, he still didn't feel like he could face Scott right now. It was the guilt, the overwhelming fear, and the feeling of powerlessness he'd been feeling since Theo had shown up and everything had gone straight to hell. Everything was welling up inside him and Stiles just couldn't _deal_ with it all anymore.

And if Stiles lost Scott right now, he wasn't sure he was even going to be able to _breathe_ anymore. Scott was his best friend, his brother, and nothing in the world was worth Scott McCall's friendship. So, he couldn't lose Scott. He just couldn't. And that meant Scott couldn't find out that Stiles had killed Donovan and that Stiles was practically falling apart at the seams.

Stiles had to be strong.

Taking a steadying breath, Stiles squared his shoulders, wincing slightly when he moved his injured shoulder. He didn't give it the attention it probably needed, though. Scott was waiting.

Stiles finally grabbed the handle to his bedroom door and pulled it open. The resulting creaking sound caused Stiles to cringe, but he didn't let himself dwell on anything other than getting downstairs. He took the stairs two at a time, acting braver than he actually felt. If he could get Scott to believe he was fine, then Scott would leave and Stiles wouldn't have to deal with anyone but his own inner demons tonight.

When he got to the door, Stiles faltered a moment. Could he really do this? Back in his bedroom, standing in front of the door, it hadn't seemed such an arduous task, but now that he was really about to pull open the door to let his best friend, it didn't seem so simple anymore.

What was he supposed to do again?

Scott pounded on the door again, and this time Stiles could hear the muffled yelling coming from the other side of the thick wood. Well, he guessed that made his decision for him. Scott would probably break in via window if Stiles didn't answer the door soon.

Stiles pulled the door open after Scott stopped hitting it and he took in the scene. There was Scott, brow scrunched up in concern and the corner of his lips pulled down in a worried frown. He was standing on the porch staring at Stiles while Stiles just kind of stared at Scott.

What the hell was he supposed to say?

It turned out Stiles hadn't needed to come up with something to say to his best friend, for Scott had decided to speak first.

"Stiles?" Scott asked, taking a hesitant step forward. Stiles automatically moving aside to allow the werewolf to enter, even as some part of him protested against the motion. "You okay man? You sounded pretty out of it on the phone."

"I'm fine," Stiles said, the words coming out before he'd even had a chance to think. "I'm just tired."

Scott's disapproving frown was all it took for Stiles to know that Scott didn't believe him in the least.

Stiles took a deep breath, making sure to fill up his lungs with sweet oxygen while he still could. The panic attack was right there. Stiles could feel it lurking just underneath his skin, waiting for the most opportune moment to snatch his air again and leave him breathless.

He looked back at Scott, feeling slightly braver than he had a moment before. He could do this. He could convince Scott he was fine. He could pull himself together before Scott caught on to anything. Scott would only have to worry about one thing if he could just convince his best friend—

Stiles faltered a moment. To cover up his internal war, he closed the front door, cutting off the chill that had been flowing into the room from outside.

Stiles stared at the wood, left hand moving automatically to his right shoulder, wondering what exactly he was doing and why he was doing it. Is this what he really wanted? To lie to his best friend? To be everything the Nogistune had stood for. He had already killed. Why make it worse by lying about it to Scott? Or should he just go all the way through with this. He'd already killed, so what would a lie be compared to that?

In all of his life, Stiles had never felt so at a loss of what to do.

"Stiles?" Scott called, and suddenly Scott was right next to him, pulling at his arm, which had been gripping his injured shoulder tight enough to make it start burning. Stiles let his hand drop to his side, feeling alone and lost, even with his best friend standing right next to him.

This was so stupid.

Scott was pulling him up the stairs and up to his room, leading him around his board and towards the bed. Stiles was gently pushed onto it. Too overwhelmed to protest, Stiles just let himself plop down on the covers while Scott kneeled down in front of him.

"Dude, tell me the truth," Scott practically pleaded. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Stiles just shook his head, not trusting his words. He felt blank, breathless, unsure of himself. Nothing was making sense anymore. He'd almost been about to lie to his best friend about killing someone, and if he did that, Stiles was sure that once Scott left, regret would wash over him and all he would want to do is call his best friend and tell him to come back.

Scott looked him straight in the eye, hands gently holding onto Stiles' wrists as the werewolf's fingers slowly rubbed them comfortingly. "Stiles, whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right? You're my best friend."

And that's when the dam holding back his anger and fear and guilt and anxiety and _every other damn thing_ that he was feeling burst. A sob built up in his chest and tears welled up in his eyes. Screwing them up did nothing but help them fall faster. Sobs wracked his chest and suddenly he was crying his eyes out while his best friend sat in front of him sporting a concerned expression.

It wasn't fair. _It was just so stupid._

"What's stupid, Stiles?" Scott asked softly. Stiles must have said that part out loud, but he found he didn't care much.

Instead of answering Scott's question, Stiles just shook his head again. He couldn't. He _couldn't_. He couldn't lie to his best friend. It had been so easy over the phone, when he didn't have to look Scott in the eyes and tell him, to his face, that he was fine. That everything was okay.

Because everything wasn't okay. He couldn't remember the last time _anything_ was okay. The past couple years had been piling up and now he was standing on the top of a precariously stacked pile as he peered down into the darkness as it quickly surrounded him, engulfed him.

"Stiles. Stiles, breathe," Scott told him, squeezing the teen's wrists a little tighter to get Stiles' attention back on him. "Take a deep breath, Stiles. Everything's going to be okay."

Stiles shook his head and sucked in a broken breath. "Scott," he whispered thickly. "Scott. Scotty, I don't- This is- Oh god, he's dead," Stiles choked out. "He's dead, Scotty. I swear I didn't mean to. I swear it. He just- And then my dad-"

He cut himself off, somewhat aware that he was saying things that he probably shouldn't be saying.

Scott had stilled, brow scrunched up in his confusion. "What are you talking about, Stiles? Who's dead? What happened?"

Stiles shuddered slightly and opened his mouth to explain, only to close it a second later as he realized he had no idea where to even start. Closing his gaping mouth, Stiles just continued to shake his head. No, he couldn't.

The conflict between telling his best friend and not telling him warred in Stiles' mind, and for what felt like _years_ , but in reality was maybe a minute at the most, Stiles looked into Scott's brown eyes. He could see the pure emotion in them, conveying what Scott was really feeling. Concern, worry, fear, love; Scott McCall was an open book. The windows to the soul indeed.

And it was then that Stiles realized that he was really going to have to do this. He had to tell his friend everything that had happened, everything he was feeling, everything that he had planned on hiding. This was his best friend, and Scott would always be there for him. Stiles would want Scott to do the same thing.

So, Stiles took a steadying breath and attempted to smile reassuringly at Scott, only managing a small grimace. Still, he could do this.

For some reason, those facts came rushing back into the forefront of his mind.

Stiles had killed Donovan.

Someone was stealing the bodies.

Stiles was going to lose his best friend.

But was he? He wasn't sure anymore. Not with the way Scott was looking at him and worrying over him right now. Would those eyes really turn hateful and angry?

He didn't know. But Scott was his best friend, and he might as well give this a shot.

"Scott," Stiles said, his voice wavering minutely. "Scott, I've got to tell you something. And you're not going to like it."

* * *

 **If you couldn't tell already, I really love delving into the characters' thoughts and feelings. It kind of drags things out a little bit, but I enjoy finding out what the character is thinking and bringing it to life in a story. It's something that you can't really do in a TV show, so I do it here. Okay, so eventually we'll actually get to the Scott tells Stiles, which is going to be in part three. I have that one half written. I'm not sure yet, but there is probably going to be four parts to this.**

 **Let me know what you guys thought! I love hearing about what you have to say!**

 **And thanks to _Ohsochich_ , _25ShadesOfFebruary_ , and _orionastro_ for reviewing!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Scott," Stiles said, his voice wavering minutely. "Scott, I've got to tell you something. And you're not going to like it."

Scott just blinked at Stiles, concerned expression morphing into something akin to confusion. "So this isn't about Lydia?" he asked.

Stiles shook his head, visibly trembling as his mouth opened and closed a few times, not unlike a fish. Scott just waited, not wanting to rush his friend, but desperate to find out what was ailing him.

Stiles was keeping a secret, and it was something he was reluctant to tell Scott. Never before had something like this happened, and Scott wasn't sure where to go with it. Sure Stiles had kept secrets from him, but they were usually little, inconsequential things that didn't really have any effect in the long run.

But now, Stiles had something big on the tip of his tongue, and it had been apparent from the moment Stiles had opened the door that Stiles didn't want to tell him anything. That was when Scott first began to doubt this had anything to do with Lydia.

"Stiles?" Scott prompted, still squatting in front of the obviously distraught boy. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. We're best friends, right? We're like brothers, and whatever it is, I can take it. Let me help you."

"Scott," Stiles all but sobbed out, his breathing harsh and eyes screwed shut, almost like the lanky teen was in pain. "It's not- It's not that I don't want to tell you. I just don't…I don't know _how_ to tell you. It- It's like the words, no matter how hard I try, won't come out."

Scott shot Stiles a reassuring smile, rubbing his thumbs over the shaking boy's wrists again in an attempt to calm him down.

It was heart wrenching. Scott was having difficulty keeping his own emotions in check. On one hand, Scott wanted to do nothing more but gather Stiles into his arms and never let him go, and while that would probably make both of them feel a bit better, it wouldn't solve the actual problem. On the other hand, Scott was a little fearful about what Stiles had to say, about what he was keeping from Scott that would make him turn away his best friend and try to keep it from him.

"Okay," Scott said. "Okay, what if we try something else."

"Like what?" Stiles asked miserably, and Scott's heart clenched painfully in his chest. "I can't do it, Scott. I don't know how to tell you."

Scott grimaced slightly. "I know this probably isn't going to be any easier, but what if you told me the reason you don't know how to tell me?"

Stiles stilled, staring at Scott like he was insane. "What?"

"You were trying to keep me away," Scott said, his eyes narrowing slightly without realizing. "You were trying to stop me from coming over. And if I hadn't, you probably wouldn't have decided to tell me, even if you don't know how to say it. Will you at least tell me why you weren't going to tell me before?"

If Stiles had looked miserable before, now he looked completely lost, an agonized expression contorting his features. "Scott," he croaked. "I'm not sure if-"

But Scott shook his head. "No, sorry. That was a stupid idea. I'm sure you had a good reason."

Stiles swallowed noisily, his adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Scott," he started softly, his voice pained. "I'm not sure it was a good reason at all. I just didn't want you to have to worry about something else. We already have those chimeras to worry about. And now someone's taking the bodies? You already have so much on your plate."

Scott tried to wrap his mind around that statement, letting Stiles' words slowly sink in. If Stiles wasn't telling him about something, and it was so big that Stiles didn't even know how to tell him about it, then it was something important and Stiles didn't want to drop any more weight onto the werewolf's shoulders.

And to Scott, that meant that he _needed_ to know. He wouldn't let his best friend suffer alone.

Inhaling loudly through his nose, Scott tried to get himself to start thinking back to the past couple days to look for what he had missed. But before he could, Scott froze, barely daring to even breathe. With wide eyes, Scott met Stiles' eyes.

The boy had stiffened when Scott had stilled and looked at him, the teen's left hand pulling away from Scott's loose grip and almost automatically going to clutch at his right shoulder, like he had done before downstairs. Scott's gaze followed the hand.

"Stiles?" Scott wondered. "What happened to you? Why do I smell blood?"

"It's nothing," Stiles said, his face blank, free of emotion. To Scott, the response seemed to be almost automatic, like a reflex to anyone who asked him what was wrong. Something that flew out of his mouth before he had any time to register the question. And _god_ …when did that start happening?

It was Stiles' eyes that betrayed him, though. His face may have been guarded, but his eyes showed his true misery and pain and…guilt? Stiles felt guilty.

And that's when Scott suddenly felt so lost. What the hell was happening to them? It seemed like he was losing his pack one by one. Allison. Ethan and Aiden. Isaac. Derek. Even if they hadn't truly been in his pack, he had been losing his friends much too frequently now a days. And for Stiles and him to get pulled apart like this? This was just plain torture.

"Tell me what happened," Scott said, and the look he shot the other boy left no room for argument. Maybe he could fix this.

Stiles shuddered and just nodded tiredly, miserably, his hand falling from his shoulder. The boy stared at the floor, refusing to meet Scott's eyes. Wearily, and maybe a little warily, Stiles began telling him a story that started in the school parking lot and ended in the library with a missing body. Stiles' voice was detached, emotionless, but his expression couldn't disguise how he truly felt.

Stiles was guilt-ridden and fearful.

After Stiles had finished, both teens sat there for a while, the human stewing in anxiety and the werewolf in poorly hidden shock.

"I…." Scott just trailed off, a numb feeling spreading throughout his limbs as he sat there, frozen. It was unthinkable. He could hardly believe the words that had just come out of his best friend's mouth. "Stiles, I don't…."

Stiles just shook his head. "You don't have to say it," the teen said bitterly.

Scott, shocked, confused, and more than a little worried about his friend, just let wide eyes settle back on Stiles. Eyes that were so open and honest just minutes before were now guarded and hardened, as if he were preparing himself for the worst. Scott didn't even know how to feel about that.

Actually, he didn't know how to feel about anything right now. So he turned to the one thing he knew how to deal with. The one thing that he could do without a second thought. Taking care of his best friend.

"Stiles?" Scott asked gently, putting the story out of his mind for a moment. "Stiles, I need to see where you got bitten. It might be infected."

The surprise in Stiles' eyes had to have been the most harrowing thing Scott had ever witnessed. When had he and Stiles fallen so far apart that his best friend could be surprised by him wanting to help take care of him? When had it started to become more and more normal for Stiles to keep secrets from him? When had Stiles started to think that keeping these secrets would help Scott with the weight on his shoulders? Just when did all this start to go to hell?

Pushing himself to his feet, Scott plopped down next to Stiles on the bed, a little surprised to find that he was sitting on something. Pulling the object out from underneath him, Scott stared at the eraser in his hand, wondering why he hadn't seen it before he had sat down.

He looked to Stiles' board questioningly. The other teen must have thrown the eraser on the bed after erasing or something. But that led to the question, what had Stiles been erasing? Scott had to admit that he was a little surprised Stiles even erased anything from that thing….

And that's when it struck him, numbness spreading throughout him once again. Donovan. Stiles had most likely put up Donovan's name on his board and erased it out of fear of someone seeing it. Scott grew cold at that thought, Stiles' story coming back to him.

Why was this happening?

Scott turned back to Stiles, finding the other teen staring at him warily. "I was trying to figure out whether Donovan was alive or not," Stiles croaked despondently. "I had to know. I _had_ to."

Scott didn't say anything to that, not knowing what to say. It unnerved him that Stiles had practically figured out half of Scott's thought process while Scott could barely tell what Stiles was thinking anymore. It just didn't seem right.

So Scott just looked Stiles in the eye and said, "I believe you."

Nothing more. Nothing less. He hoped Stiles understood that Scott just wasn't ready to face this. Not yet. In a way, Stiles had been right. After finding out about chimeras and body snatchers and wondering what the hell he was going to do about them, Scott really didn't know how to handle this new information about his best friend almost dying and Scott had been nowhere close enough to help him.

Stiles shook his head, staring straight into his eyes. "Maybe, but I don't think you're ready to accept it yet."

* * *

 **Sigh. This chapter was so hard to write. This was supposed to be so much longer. It _was_ the final chapter, but I split it up because I can't seem to write more than 50 words at a time. It's bugging me. And on top of all of that, I'm sick as hell and I just want to sleep. So sorry if it didn't meet your standards. Regardless, the next chapter will be the last. Thanks for your reviews and favorites and follows. I just hope I can make up for this chapter with the next. Wish me luck!**


	4. Chapter 4

Scott said nothing more after Stiles had told him what he already knew. What Stiles knew he already knew. Stiles had just been the one to voice it aloud. And now he was wondering if that had been a mistake.

 _Add it to the list_ , Stiles thought bitterly.

He had made too many mistakes, been controlled by too many people, to care about the gravity of his words anymore. What more could he do to mess this up? How could he make this worse than it already was? How could he fall farther than he already had?

He wasn't sure he could. And he didn't know how to fix this. So how could he put himself into a worse situation?

His biggest fears had come true. It had started out okay. Scott had been understanding—a friend—as he tried to get Stiles to tell him what it was that he couldn't get out. It had warmed Stiles' heart to hear those kinds of words from his best friend's mouth. And he stupidly hoped that Scott would still be understanding when he heard the truth.

How could he have been that stupid? To think that Scott, the one who strived to save _everyone_ and _everything_ , would ever have understood what had happened. Why couldn't he have just said _'I'm fine'_ like he had planned to and kicked Scott out again? Why hadn't he done anything to keep this secret from Scott?

Feeling like he was suffocating, Stiles shot off the bed, away from Scott, and shoved his hand into his pocket. Fingers curling around his phone, the only thing in his pocket, Stiles pulled it out. He stared at it for one blank moment, before a surge of anger rushed through him and he found himself yelling and throwing it at the wall.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled, face slack with shock. "What the hell are you doing?"

Stiles didn't answer, though. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Stiles struggled to calm his breathing. He didn't understand why he was so angry all of the sudden, but he did know that he _really_ wanted to hit something. To make the pain and anger and hatred and sorrow _go away_.

He just wanted it all to go away.

Stomping towards his wall, Stiles pulled his fist back and struck. Again. And again. And again. Until his knuckles were bleeding and he was yelling in grief and rage and Scott was holding him back.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled, having gotten over his initial shock some time ago. Stiles just struggled against Scott's werewolf strength. "Stiles, calm down! You're going to hurt yourself!"

"I don't care!" Stiles shouted, his voice cracking in his anger. "I don't care, Scott! Let me go!"

"Not until you promise me you're going to stop!"

Stiles kept struggling, opening his mouth to retort before it got cut off by a painful gasp of breath. Both Stiles and Scott froze—Stiles in an effort not to let the pain from his wound spread further and Scott from his fear of hearing his best friend's pathetic sound of pain. Slowly, Scott released Stiles from his hold and stepped back, eyes wide.

"Stiles?" Scott croaked. The werewolf's eyes followed Stiles' hand as it lightly touched his shoulder. The place Donovan had bitten him. "Stiles, you okay man? Did I…did I hurt you?"

Stiles just grimaced. "I'm fine."

He wasn't, but it wasn't his shoulder bothering him. His anger from before turned to defeat as he took in Scott's hesitant expression. The werewolf was staring at Stiles like he was glass, delicate and fragile and able to break with just the simplest of words.

"Stiles-"

"What's happening to me?" Stiles asked, cutting Scott off before he could say anything. Stiles stared straight into Scott's eyes. "What's wrong with me? Why am I...? Just tell me how to fix this, Scott."

Scott looked bewildered as he processed Stiles' words. "Fix this? What are you talking about?"

"I killed Donovan, Scott," Stiles stated, his voice flat and unemotional even as a wave of guilt and agony washed over him. As much as he hated to admit it, he was scared. Of himself. Of what Scott would say to him. Of how this would all turn out. He needed to find some way to control this situation and get rid of his fear. He needed a purpose. "How can I fix this? Just tell me how to fix this and I will."

Wide-eyed, Scott just gaped. Slowly, he said, "Stiles, what happened with Donovan was self-defense. You didn't mean to kill him. You were just trying to get away."

Stiles froze. Those words….

They were everything that Stiles had wanted Scott to say and kept himself from hoping that they would be said. His mind was stuck on those words, repeating them over and over again, wondering if this was some kind of dream.

Because Scott believed him.

"You…you…." Stiles was at a loss for words, just standing there gaping at his best friend.

Scott sighed wearily. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," he said. "And that you felt you needed to hide it. But I'm your best friend, dude. You don't need to shut me out, and you don't need to _fix_ anything."

"But-"

"It was you," Scott said, "that told me that we were brothers, Stiles. We're _brothers_. That means we stick together and we have each other's backs."

"I…." Stiles felt the tightness return to his chest, hindering his breathing, but this tension was different from before. This time, it came with watering eyes and a closed off throat as he opened his closed his mouth, struggling to find any words that could explain his emotions.

But on the other hand, _what was he feeling?_ He didn't understand it himself. All he knew was that he was grateful to Scott for disproving his fear of rejection. Knees buckling, Stiles felt himself go limp as the shock finally settled. He felt himself tilt forward, and probably would have collapsed on the floor if Scott hadn't been there to catch him and hold him up. Stiles gripped Scott as if his best friend was a lifeline that could save him from drowning.

"Thank you," the human whispered to his werewolf of a best friend. " _Thank you_ , Scott. Thanks for always having my back. I don't know what I would ever do without you."

Scott smiled sadly. "Yeah, me either. Now, do you have any leftover pizza we could heat up? I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Stiles half-laughed, half-cried, getting his feet underneath him and somehow standing on his own. He felt light and happy, something he hadn't felt in _way_ too long. Since before Allison and the Nogitsune. Or had it been before Jackson? Or maybe before Scott was bitten? Oh god, had it really been so long since he had felt any sort of normalcy that he couldn't actually remember when it had been?

And yet, even though he felt light and happy, there was something still lurking beneath his skin. Something older and sadder and angrier. Lurking there, waiting for the right moment to strike again. Stiles just hoped it wouldn't strike him with his best friend around.

"Yeah, let's leave the werewolf problems until tomorrow, yeah Scotty?" Stiles asked, smiling with trembling lips. "I think we have some casserole in the fridge that I can pop in the microwave."

Scott, grinning, took his hand and led him out of his bedroom. And he left behind his board and the rest of the weight on his shoulders. "Sounds amazing."

And Stiles couldn't help but let out another mad burst of laughter. To hell to the facts. To hell with this town. To hell with his problems. They could all wait until tomorrow.

* * *

 **Merry Christmas! Look who finally got this out! Yay! Now I can mark this as complete.**

 **To be honest, I don't know how I feel about this one. It took me months to write like ten paragraphs, and I swear it was like pulling teeth. All the way to the end. Still, I'm glad I got this out to you guys. It took a lot of effort just to write this and I'm super happy I got it out in time for Christmas. So much to do. Anyways, thanks so much for all of your guys' support. It really helped me out! Please let me know what you thought!**


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